


From the Ground Up

by hiddencait



Category: Hidden Legacy Series - Ilona Andrews
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Dynamics, Gen, Pre-Canon, Sisters, background rest of the Baylor family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: Nevada and her family contemplate some construction.
Relationships: Nevada Baylor & Arabella Baylor & Catalina Baylor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	From the Ground Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biochemprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biochemprincess/gifts).



> Not sure why this was what popped into my head for you, but I hope you enjoy it! Just FYI, I did have to handwave some ages/the timing of this fic since the series doesn't make it super clear when the move happened.

**From the Ground Up**

“Honey, we’re in a warehouse – I mean, Honey, we’re home!” Arabella chirped with exaggerated pep as we entered the admittedly less than welcoming space. I stiffened and let out an annoyed huff, biting back the words that wanted to come. Beside me, our mother rubbed a hand across my shoulder, keeping me from snapping at my youngest sister as I so, _so_ wanted to.

It wasn’t Arabella’s fault I was on edge, I reminded myself. It wasn’t anyone’s fault really. Unless you could assign “fault” to cancer, in which case, I would happily pile on the blame. Blame for losing the business (well sort of – technically we were still Baylor Investigative Agency – but now we answered to someone else which was hard to swallow even a the best of times and viewing our new “house” was definitely not the best of times), blame for losing our home replaced by our “exciting” adventure in a new and very different kind of living space… Soon, though I hated to admit it, blame for the loss of our father for all that he was doing his best to hang on for now.

Blame for _all_ of it.

And living space was generous at the moment, I knew, when we stood in a bare, empty warehouse. A solid one, at least, with no leaks in the roofs and walls that stood on their own at proper right angles to the floor and doors that would lock securely.

Well, securely enough for our current purposes in a world where mages could knock down the entire building let alone the doors if they really _really_ wanted to. But we’d work on security, just as we’d work on the “living” part of “living space,” I reminded myself.

“All right then, let’s walk the space and get an eye for the layout,” Grandma Frida said, striding past me to end up even with Dad, leaning her shoulder into his and doing a surprisingly good job of hiding the fact that she’d done it as much to support his increasingly unsteady legs as out of camaraderie. If I hadn’t been looking for that exact movement, I doubted I’d have noticed. With a last pat to my shoulder, Mom moved up to flank him from his other side, her leg behaving enough for her to support him this time instead of the other way around, and left me with my sisters and cousins fanned out around me.

Arabella eased over, the preteen looking contrite and almost ashamed.

“Sorry,” she said under her breath, as if it would keep Catalina on my other side from hearing her. The echoing empty space of the warehouse made it unlikely, but I was grateful to see Catalina deliberately looking away from our hushed almost-a-conversation.

I nudged my youngest sister’s shoulder gently in thanks for her apology, half-hearted thought it might have been, glad both girls seemed to be trying at least to keep the drama to a minimum. It was quite the feat for a pair of young girls only eleven and thirteen; I remembered that age and had to give them credit. I didn’t think I would have been handling all of this nearly as well as they were. Then again, oldest child syndrome was already kicking in for me even then, so who knew. Either way, Arabella was trying, and I appreciated it and told her so. “We’re good. Everyone’s just a little edgy.”

“Yeah,” Catalina agreed, proving she had been paying attention after all. Arabella bit her lip, but our sister’s voice hadn’t held any hostility or mockery, so Arabella didn’t say anything. I held in a sigh of relief, knowing neither one would appreciate feeling like I was patronizing them. Before I could figure out what to say next, Catalina spoke up again. “It’s just so… empty,” she said softly. “How are we supposed to make it feel like a home?”

“With some elbow grease, and working together. How else?” I asked and reached out to wrap my arms around both their shoulders, looking back to check on Leon. Bern caught my eye and nodded, then pulled Leon around us to catch up with the adults. Well the other adults. That was still weird to realize that technically I was one of them even if at twenty-one I barely felt it. But I’d been taking a few low risk jobs solo recently in between my criminal justice classes instead of tagging along on cases with our parents or just manning the phones as receptionist. I was a full-fledged Baylor employee – you’d think I could get used to it by now.

But then, it _was_ a family business. Bern, at barely fifteen kept trying to convince Dad he could work off and on now too, though I knew Mom was encouraging him to focus at high school so he could at least apply to college or a tech school. We could certainly use his innate skills, but he deserved a chance to try something else if he wanted, especially with as smart as he was. And Leon, well Leon was Leon, bless his heart. At almost twelve, he was trying much the way the girls could be _trying –_ seriously I did _not_ miss being in my teens and dealing with puberty – but he could also be a sweetheart and a hard worker if kept on task.

Bern was good at that - he’d keep an eye on him, I decided.

That just left corralling and encouraging my sisters to me. I gave their shoulders a hug and nodded out toward the vast – and empty, Catalina was right about that after all – space. “So, think of this: we’ve got a blank canvas here. What do you both think we should fill it with?”

The girls looked out around them, both of them with a near identical expression of concentration on their very different faces. Catalina was the first to speak, a furrow in her brow as she looked back toward the door we’d entered through. “Mom and Dad are going to need an office, right? That should be the first thing somebody walks into maybe?”

“Good thought,” I agreed. “What about you, Arabella?”

“Well, it’s our house too. So we’ll need a kitchen and living room and bathrooms and everything.” She brightened. “Oh! And Grandma Frida’s stuff needs a place!”

I nodded. “Yeah, she needs a lot of space for the vehicles and parts. It’s lucky this place has more than enough room to go around, huh?”

“Yeah!” Arabella was starting to get excited now, and she leaned around me to grin at Catalina. “It’ll be like Mousetrap – almost like a maze that only we know how to get through!”

I could tell that Catalina was a little less patient with bit of exuberant fantasy from her little sister – though one not completely off from what reality would likely give us once the false walls and drop ceilings went in, I thought – so I broke in before Catalina could scoff and set off the round of sisterly arguments we had so narrowly avoided a few minutes before.

“And I have one last idea, I think you both will like.” I kept my voice light and the kind of deliberately casual the girls immediately recognized as meaning something momentous. I felt both pairs of shoulders tense as they looked up at me with all the focus of a pair of hunting hounds. “If we’re deciding on the number of rooms we make, what do you think about _finally_ getting bedrooms of your own?”

There was a beat of stunned, elated silence, then Arabella whooped – directly in my ear unfortunately but the ringing would stop eventually – then took off running towards our parents, with Catalina right behind her. “Mom, Mom, Mom – can we really have our own rooms?” “I won’t have to share with Arabella anymore?” “When can we sleep there?” “Where’s my room going to be?”

From where I was, I couldn’t tell which question had come from which sister – or from Leon as he’d caught on to their meaning quickly and added his own wish for a space of his own. I figured my parents might have words with me later as they’d meant to ease the girls into the design of the space instead of throwing all of us into the deep end with them, but it had been the only thing I could think of to lift their spirits.

That had to be worth it, right?

Alone in my spot across the warehouse from my family, I let myself really look around as I’d been leading the girls to. It really _didn’t_ look like much, not yet, and even after we had everything set up, it likely would still look mostly like a warehouse in many ways. But I could see it now, I thought, could all but smell the motor oil that would permeate Grandma Frida’s bay while Catalina’s latest perfume addiction might waft free from the line of bedrooms there. Bern’s area would be festooned with wires, while Mom’s would need an additional weapons safe and work table for caring for her rifles.

I wasn’t sure what my space would look like yet, though I hoped I’d have something like privacy, somewhere to escape the kids for a while.

But no matter what, we’d figure it out. We were Baylors, and we could do this. We _had_ to do this. There were no other options, so we _would_ make this our home.

And wouldn’t building it ourselves make it feel more “ours” maybe? I hoped so. I really hoped so.

Across the room, Mom turned and caught my eye, beckoning me over with a tilt of her head. Time to get to work. I jogged over and joined my family with a smile.

Time to build our home.


End file.
